


A thousand kisses deep

by Anuna



Series: the inhumans 'verse [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Daisy being too hard on herself, Emotional Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Intimacy, Lincoln being perfect, Mid Season 3, Smut, and a chocolate cake, happiness, part of a series (but can be read as stand alone), sex during period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: “I know what you're thinking. A superhero shouldn't have a problem so trivial as period cramps,” he says. She bites her lower lip, and dear God, she's so cute like that. He'd like to kiss her but he knows she feels miserable about it all (her expectations of herself, the self imposed responsibilities, the fact they're talking about this. The fact that it's not easy to get her to open up at all.The fact that she still does it, with him.)“I'm a lame superhero,” she tells him. “I bet Captain America doesn't have such... trivial problems.”“Well I bet Captain America had a sprained an ankle at least once,” Lincoln says. “A superhero is still a regular person.”





	A thousand kisses deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breakingthetide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthetide/gifts).



> I wanted some Daisy/Lincoln fluff. Here it is. 
> 
> (the story is a part of a series, but you can treat it and read it as a stand alone.) 
> 
> Written for my friend **Breakingthetide** who always holds my hand while I'm flailing, It doesn't even matter what I'm flailing about.  <3333

Daisy is supposed to be in the gym, kicking the boxing bag.

 

If Lincoln could choose, he'd pick his room at the base and the book he had on the nightstand: Terry Pratchett and hos weird little world were funny and smart, and he was all for funny and smart. Mack was so generous to loan him his entire Discworld collection, and despite it being a lot of books, he was getting through them pretty quickly, and he wanted them to last. Which was why he didn't mind having his reading time interrupted.

 

Well, that was one of the reasons. Hitting the boxing bag is simply _not_ something he enjoyed doing. He's definitely not looking forward to that, but he is looking forward to the look in Daisy's eyes she gives him every time he shows up.

 

(She knows he doesn't enjoy this. He wouldn't pretend if he could. Still she doesn't think less of his efforts, even if his heart is not at the _exactly_ same place as hers.)

 

When he opens the gym door and steps inside he finds the large room empty. There's no Daisy there.

 

Okay, maybe she's just late. He'll wait a bit for her. Maybe he'll finally get to tease her about coming to the gym first.

 

Fifteen minutes later she doesn't show up, and he lifts himself from the bench, deciding to go look for her. Maybe there's some kind of emergency, and if there is, he wants to know. But even as he steps out further into the base, it seems nothing is really out of order. Simmons is pacing the lab and speaking into her recorder, gesturing as if there's someone there to listen to her. Fitz and Mack are watching some kind of documentary and discussing it. Coulson is almost dozing off behind his desk. But Daisy is nowhere to be found.

 

His feet know the way to her room. He's way too familiar with it, and somewhat spoiled due to her tendency to let him spend as much time as he likes with her. It's very hard to draw a line, but he knows sometimes she just wants the space for herself, so he goes back to his own tiny quarters, filled with books that make it a tiny bit more like home. He knocks and opens the door. She only ever locks if she's not in there or if they want to be alone; which means she's most definitely in here. And really, it doesn't take long to locate her. She's curled on the bed, holding one of the familiarly looking books in front of her face. (He did wonder where “Nightwatch” ended up.)

 

“Daisy?”

 

She looks up at him. The sleeveles top he uses for training is probably her cue.

 

“Oh, crap,” she says. He grins at her, mostly because he can't help himself.

 

“Good book?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” she says, and he notices how she slowly sits up and hugs her knees. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I didn't forget, I just, um -”

 

“Don't apologize for reading,” he tells her. He's smiling and he actually likes the prospect of her getting lost in a book. That's certainly good. She's training way too hard as it is. (She's too hard on herself and he's all for every opportunity she takes to just relax.)

 

“The book is good,” she says. “Seriously.”

 

“But?” he prompts, because he feels there's something else too. She's about to say something but stops. Instead she plays with the pages of the book. “Daisy?” he says gently and waits until she looks up at him.

 

“I've taken Ibuprofen,” she says. “For, um. The cramps.”

 

“The cramps,” he repeats, looking at her. He realizes _what_ she's saying only when she starts to blush. “For period cramps?”

 

“Geez, Campbell. Yell so entire base can hear you.”

 

“Sorry,” he says. “Uh, okay? What is,” he pauses, looking at her, feeling slightly confused at her demeanor. It's almost as if she's trying not to look at him. “There's nothing wrong with that,” he says. Because there isn't anything wrong with that. In his opinion, she did just the right thing.

 

“Well, we were supposed to train,” she says as he sits on the edge of her bed.

 

“I think it's perfectly reasonable to rest if you're in pain,” he tells her. She sighs and does that impatient lip bite thing, one that signals she's annoyed.

 

“That's just it,” she says. “It's...,” she sighs. “I'm supposed to train, I'm supposed to be ready if there was an emergency. Not curled up on the bed because of _cramps_.”

 

He smiles. He does it _gently_ , to make sure she won't see it as him laughing at her problems.

 

“I know what you're thinking. A superhero shouldn't have a problem so trivial as period cramps,” he says. She bites her lower lip, and dear God, she's _so cute_ like that. He'd like to kiss her but he knows she feels miserable about it all (her expectations of herself, the self imposed responsibilities, the fact they're talking about this. The fact that it's not easy to get her to open up _at all_.

 

The fact that she still does it, with him.)

 

“I'm a lame superhero,” she tells him. “I bet Captain America doesn't have such... trivial problems.”

 

“Well I bet Captain America had a sprained an ankle at least once,” Lincoln says. “A superhero is still a regular person.”

 

She remains quiet, but he can see her annoyance melting away.

 

“Would superhero like a backrub?”

 

She gives him a hopeful bordering on disbelief look. “You're serious?”

 

“Extremely serious,” he says. She smiles and nods and they clear away the bed – there are few more books hidden among crumpled sheets, a box of crackers (he smiles, because deep down she's a slob and it's adorable), a pair of warm socks ( _I looked for them everywhere!_ ), and several hair pins. Once their work is done Daisy makes herself comfortable, face down on the bed, her palms flat against the cool sheet. Lincoln brings a bottle of her body lotion from the bathroom, takes off his sneakers, climbs the bed and straddles her thighs. He pulls up her top, up to her shoulder blades and pours a generous amount of body lotion into his palm. “Just relax,” he says.

 

She does, after initially tensing up and getting used to the way he's touching her. He gradually applies more pressure, until he hears her moaning and grunting softly into the mattress, and massages the area of her lower back. Soon her reactions become a bit more verbal, as every circle of his fingers is followed by _Oh God_ and _yes_ and _don't ever stop doing that_.

 

Which gives him a slightly different idea.

 

“Hey Daisy,” he says, pressing pads of his fingers along her spine, and she's practically purring.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You know what else is good for cramps?”

 

She mumbles something that's supposed to mean no.

 

“Sex,” he says.

 

She reacts predictably, turns her head as much as she can in her attempt to give him an incredulous look.

 

“I'm serious,” he says.

 

“But it would be gross,” she answers. His hands are still, lightly touching her sides. He shakes his head.

 

“No, not really,” he tells her. “Maybe a little bit messy, but that's fine.”

 

She tries to look at him better, and when she can't, she pulls herself up. “Um, Lincoln. I know you're a doctor but... you've never actually _had_ a period.”

 

He gives her an affectionate eyeroll.

 

“Do you think I've never seen how period looks like?”

 

“Ew,” she says at that and he laughs.

 

“I'm really, really serious,” he tells her, inching closer and touching her knee. “Orgasms help reduce the pain from the cramps, and besides,” he pauses for the effect, even though he's pretty sure he's got her attention now. “Due to hormones and increased blood circulation and the body being more sensitive than usual, orgasms during period can be pretty intense.”

 

She's grinning and trying to pass it for flippant, but he can see her blush. And he can see how much darker her eyes are.

 

“You're... one of a kind, really,” Daisy says.

 

Lincoln shrugs, making a mock innocent face. “Hey. I just wanna have sex with my girlfriend.”

 

Finally, she cracks up and starts laughing. “Well, you should have just said so. The whole medical intro was completely unnecessary,” she says, giving him an indulgent smile.

 

“It just happens to be true,” he tells her.

 

“Well, okay,” she tells him. “If you're so eager, let's find out how that works. But I want to have a shower first.”

 

He grins and she grins back, getting up from the bed. “I'll be with you in a few minutes,” she says, giving him a fond peck on the lips.

 

*

 

When she comes out of the bathroom, first thing he notices is that she's dressed. She's wearing yoga pants and a loose shirt, and he can see a bra strap where her collar dips and somehow he likes that even better than seeing her walk out of the bathroom completely naked.

 

So, she _knows_ that he enjoys undressing her.

 

He'd think about that except she comes to sit on the bed cross legged and smiles when she sees he covered the bed sheet with a large towel. And she's just sitting there, looking at him, almost as if she's afraid to make the first move – which is odd in any case. Maybe he's too used of her taking the lead and allowing her to have the control (and he knows why it's so, _so important_ for her). Maybe it's something else too.

 

“Daisy?” he scoots closer.

 

“It's just... -” she's giving him hesitant looks.

 

“Hey,” he says softly and touches her face. “We don't have to do this, or anything if you don't want to do.”

 

She looks soft, and she looks like she doesn't have an answer to everything – because she _doesn't have to_. She shrugs, and she's still smiling in a way that reminds him of a girl he met in Afterlife. And it occurs to him that's what he can give her.

 

“It's silly. It's just sex -” she says. “And I guess I'm... uh. Insecure.”

 

He shrugs as well. “That's pretty normal,” he says. She's looking at him, in a way that's asking to be reassured without having to reveal too much. He keeps his face straight but not too serious. It's a fine line they're walking, all careful nudges and reassurance and openness to anything she might want. He tilts his face and moves a lock of her hair behind her ear. She smiles a little bit. “Can I kiss you?”

 

She nods.

 

He kisses her. Very gently, and then a bit bolder, a bit longer, testing her reaction. She kisses back lightly, moves closer to wind her arms around his neck. He can touch her back like this and he feels her start to relax, feels her kisses deepening. It's good, to just kiss like this and feel her close.

 

He could easily let her lead the way – he always does, but this time she needs something more. He makes his way down her throat, knowing that the stubble on his cheeks tickles her, knowing that she likes it; and that she will shudder if he bites the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He knows her well by now, knows her like a map of his dreams, all the places where she's soft and needy. She lets him do this, explore all the spots she usually directs him to; lets him pull off her shirt and unhook her bra. He stares, because he always does, because she's amazing and beautiful and he knows his face shows it. He wants her to _see_ it, wants her to know that he _always_ wants her. She kisses him, and it's long and deep, with her fingertips on his cheeks. She gets lost in it, enough for them to fall on the mattress, her under him. She's looking up at him, watching as he removes his shirt, watching as his eyes travel along her body and she bites her lower lip. He lets himself feel it – the knowledge she likes him just the way he likes her.

 

“Come here,” she says, pulling him close and he does; kissing her until she's out of breath. He slowly moves lower, listening to the way she's moaning softly. He sits up to remove her yoga pants and her underwear. She's holding her breath.

 

He feels she doesn't want him to look at her too closely, and he doesn't – he goes back to kissing her, until she's focused on touching him and trying to remove his pants. He does it for her and she watches, propped on her elbows and breathing hard. He's naked and she's naked and she gives him a smile; this amazing, _brilliant_ smile full of trust and pulls him down again. Their bodies are touching and he's slowly stroking her legs, touching her thighs, until she gradually parts them. He moves his hand to her hip, holds it there while his mouth moves to her breast. It will always make her moan, whimper as he tugs at her nipple. His name falls from her mouth when he moves his hand between her legs and slowly strokes her clit. She lets him do this until she can't take no more.

 

“Please, Lincoln,” she says. He carefully settles between her legs and watches her as he slowly sinks into her. They've done this enough times to be _really_ familiar with each other, but still, he's careful and watching her face for any sign of pain. There's none, though, there's just bliss as she sighs and moans and rolls her hips against his. “Oh God. This... it _is_ different,” she says.

 

“Good different?” he asks as he moves slowly, out and back into her.

 

“God,” her eyes roll back. “Yes. _Yes_. So good. _Move_.”

 

He does. He does that slow pace she enjoys, keeps his movements deep and intense and soon she's panting and kissing him and pulling him closer, asking for more. _Harder._

 

“Shh,” he says. “Not yet,” he says, knowing she enjoys this, knowing her pleasure is intense and that he's making her feel really really good; so he wants to make it last as long as possible. She trusts him, lets him do it his way, allows him to work her up so much she's literally pleading, and only then he gives in to her requests. It's intense then, fast and almost rough, _exactly_ as she likes it, until she arches into him and _screams,_ and he can feel her orgasm going on and on and _on_.

 

He flips them around so that she's resting on his chest, breathing hard as he rubs her lower back. She pulls herself up soon, straddles him and she's good to go again. There's less finesse this time and more fun as her breasts bounce and he feels her come the moment he starts rubbing her between her legs. Feeling her orgasm, he lets himself get lost in the warmth of her body around him.

 

They enjoy the afterglow, not moving aside from his hands lightly stroking her back, and her lips placing kisses wherever she can reach.

 

Then she yawns. He grins at her and kisses her nose.

 

“Why don't I go and shower really quickly?” he says and she nods, letting him disentangle from her. He would hurry off, except she's watching him with that happy longing expression and he almost goes back to bed. Except he should clean up a bit and let her get dressed and get comfortable as she pleases.

 

His shower takes a couple of minutes (being a doctor gives you all sorts of handy skills, like washing yourself quickly and thoroughly). He comes out smelling of raspberry and vanilla and finds her asleep, curled on her side and wrapped in a blanket.

 

The star shaped lights he got for her for Christmas are contently tinkling above her desk. There's something about the fact that she hasn't moved them from where he placed them that makes him smile.

 

He knows how much she likes being warm, and how she calls him her personal warming pillow, so he slides under the blanket, spooning behind her. She sighs when he covers the lower portion of her stomach with his hand.

 

In a matter of moments he's asleep as well.

 

*

 

He lets her sleep way into the evening, and manages to sneak out and do some quality bribing among the kitchen staff. He comes back to her room unnoticed, with two generous pieces of that rich chocolate cake he has to fight Fitz for and two tall glasses of warm milk.

 

And then he kisses her awake, like the biggest sappy cliché on earth. And she smiles.

 

“What have you done?” she asks as he purposefully lets his beard tickle her skin while he keeps kissing her.

 

“Oh, nothing. I brought you dinner,” he says.

 

She's stretched on the bed, cheeks warm and hair tousled and she's watching him as he sets her tray on her nightstand. Then he sits at the foot of the bed, cross legged and barefoot, with his plate in his hand.

 

“I'm pretty sure that's not dinner, Mister Healthy Eating,” she teases as she pulls herself to sit.

 

“It is. Today,” he says, watching her as she takes her cake and digs in.

 

“That's cheating,” she says.

 

“But you like it.”

 

“I'm loving it,” she tells him, finishing off her cake and attacking his. (He lets her. He even feeds her, and she feeds him and he's pretty sure they're disgusting like a couple of lovestruck teenagers.)

 

After the cake is gone she watches him as he drinks milk. She looks pensive, but not in a bad way.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“Nothing hurts any more,” she says. He just smiles.

 

“Told you.”

 

She keeps looking at him a while longer.

 

“That was pretty good,” she says and he knows she doesn't mean cake.

 

“Just pretty good?”

 

“Okay, it was absolutely fabulous,” she tells him, scooting closer. “Like... _best sex_ I ever had,” she says. Her expression is starry eyed but her tone is serious, and he's not sure how to react to that.

 

“You're welcome,” he says warmly. She cuddles into his side and presses her nose against his bicep.

 

“I really should let you take care of me more often. Because you're so good at that,” she says. He knows the importance of this moment so he doesn't interrupt her save for kissing the top of her head. “Because I like it. And because... I need it,” she says.

 

And then she looks at him, and he knows, with complete certainty that he _loves_ her.

 

She _makes him happy_ , and he _loves_ her.

 

And he would tell her, but her eyes are glassy and he knows it could be too much right now.

 

But eventually. Eventually he will tell her.

 

“I'm happy to do it, whenever you want to,” he says.

 

There are, after all, so many ways to say _I love you_.

 


End file.
